


The Value of Food and Cheer

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Durin's Auto Body [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, May December Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori nursed his broken heart for a week. Give or take a decade. </p>
<p>(Ori is 28, Thorin is in his late 50s)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Value of Food and Cheer

The thing about a broken heart was there was only so long you could nurse it. Ori was a practical sort of person and not inclined to melodrama. For a week, he had indulged his sorrow. 

“I’m sorry,” Fili had said, not even able to make eye contact. “It doesn’t feel right anymore.” 

It had felt right for four months. Four months making out in a beat up pickup and losing every kind of virginity he had. It had been a perfect summer, hot and lush. Ori could barely believe his luck, sitting beside Fili who drove with a quiet competence that made Ori feel utterly safe and trusting. 

“Oh,” he’d responded. “Okay.” 

Even though it hadn’t been okay, not at all. Especially when Fili kissed his forehead and drove off, leaving Ori standing in front of his house without any idea of what to do next. 

“Come inside, lad,” Dori had chivvied him up the porch. “Bad day?” 

Ori had never told him that he was seeing someone. Dori would probably have killed Fili for taking advantage or something similarly very sweet and totally wrong at the same time. 

“Yeah, a bit,” he’d said instead. 

So for a week, he listened to sad music and wrote terribly poetry. Then he threw it all away and went back to begin his senior year of high school with his head held high. It was rough in the face of Kili and Tauriel’s luminous happiness, but on the plus side no one was paying enough attention for them to notice if he was less than himself. 

“Want to come over?” Gimli asked him on Friday night. “Gonna show that pansy ass how Call of Duty is really played.” 

Ori was terrible at video games, but it was pleasant to curl up small while Gimli shouted names at an increasingly narrowed eyed Legolas. 

“Are you troubled?” Legolas asked when Gimli went to get more soda. 

“Um,” he stared at Legolas, who was usually like Tauriel in that he was too beautiful to be borne most of the time, but unlike her in that he was a jerk the rest of the time. “No?” 

“You aren’t yourself,” Legolas shrugged. “You haven’t scribbled one of your notes recently.” 

“Poetry,” he mumbled. “I write poetry.” 

“Uh huh,” Legolas jabbed pause and turned to look him full in the face. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.” 

“I don’t have a puppy.” 

Legolas stared at him long enough that Ori started to itch. 

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” the words felt strange in his mouth. Foreign. He’d never called Fili his boyfriend while they were together though surely he had been? 

“I once set fire to an ex’s car,” Legolas offered as if that was a totally normal thing to say. 

“Uh. No. That’s...it wasn’t that kind of break up,” Ori had no idea what kind of break up that would take, but it wasn’t Fili’s heartfelt apology and delicate kiss. 

“Just an offer.” 

“No. Definitely no.” 

“Here,” Gimli returned, shoving a glass of water into Legolas’ hand. Their fingers brushed together a fraction too long, leaving Gimli flushed and stuttering. Legolas didn’t seem to notice. 

It took everything Ori had not to take his friend outside and advise him to run as far as his legs would carry him. Knowing Gimli, Legolas’ violent tendencies were probably part of the attraction. Up until now, Ori hadn’t even been certain that Gimli had a sexuality aside from wanting to get it on with pixelated guns and his model bat’leth. 

“It’s hard,” Legolas said, still looking at Ori. “But you’ll get over it. First one’s always the roughest.” 

Years later, Ori sat beside Legolas the local bar with more people and terrible beer then either of them knew what to do with and admitted, 

“You were right.” 

“I’m always right,” Legolas threw back a vodka shot like it was water. He’d done six already and showed no sign of slowing. Gimli was leaning heavily into him, grinning like an idiot. 

“Not always,” Gimli burped and Legolas rolled his eyes, putting an arm around his shoulders. 

“Always,” Legolas affirmed. “About what?” 

“The first one is the hardest.” 

“First what?” Legolas squinted, the first hint that the booze might be hitting his system. “Anal?” 

“No way Ori’s a virgin,” Gimli gave into gravity and draped himself over Legolas’ legs like the beefiest afghan ever. “I heard him take on that bear of his just this weekend.” 

“Oh my god,” Ori buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know either of you.” 

“Another?” The bartender lofted up the vodka bottle and Ori held up his glass like an idiot. 

They stumbled back toward the house together, Legolas practically carrying Gimli and Ori weaving around them like a demented meteor around a tipsy moon. Or a sun? Fuck, he was drunk. 

“I thought about my first for years,” Legolas said, over articulated and too sober for the amount of liquor he put away. “Daniel break up with you?”

“Yeah,” he was used to Legolas’ eerie insights now. They were tolerable considering they punctuated long weeks of total obliviousness. “He had to go find himself. I told him that he seemed to be right in front of me, but that was clearly an illusion and he said I should spend more time actually writing then coming up with clever one liners and then he was gone.” 

“Half-decent one liner though.” 

“That’s some consolation,” he agreed. 

“There’s someone out there for you. Probably,” Legolas let out a small burp. “Most likely.” 

“Awesome advice. Thanks for that.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

They maneuvered Gimli up the three porch steps and through the front door. The crumbling Victorian had served as their home since Legolas returned from college and installed Gimli like the world's grumpiest mistress. It had taken everyone by surprise, given the rather public and furious breakup that had been the beginning of Legolas’ college career. Apparently caving to his father’s expectations, Legolas had disappeared and reemerged a smarter, more rebellious version of himself which Gimli apparently heartily approved of. 

Between Legolas’ clerk salary and Gimli’s steady server work, they couldn’t quite start a household on their own. Ori had dearly wanted out from under Dori’s loving smothering and his pieced together freelance career brought in enough to make it possible. So here he was, twenty-eight and still living with roommates. He lived in the attic, an antique bed in one corner and his desk under the largest window. It was perfect and he loved every creaky floorboard. When he sat at his desk, booting up his laptop, he could imagine he was writing in the garret like Emily Dickinson or something. 

His bed was the greatest purchase of his life, the soft mattress and piles of knitted blankets that he’d made out of sheer defense because victorian attics were wonderful for atmosphere, but crap at insulation. After leaving Gimli to Legolas’ tender mercies, Ori reached his bed with a grateful sigh and tucked himself small in the center of it. 

The hangover the next morning left him fragile so he stayed in his aerie rather than confront Gimli’s brutal hangover remedy of bacon and raw eggs. Instead, he sipped water and ate half a sleeve of Oreos while finishing up an article for the Post. It wasn’t poetry. It probably wasn’t even very good, but it paid generously by the word. 

He crept down when he was sure the others were gone to work. The television was tempting, but he found himself drifting outside. His feet carried him to the little cafe with its promise of carbohydrates and coffee. Sigrid wouldn’t be in today, fussing over him too much as if she wanted to apologize for being content and pregnant as a house. 

“Coffee?” a bored waitress offered instead and he nodded and got a muffin. Sigrid’s muffins. He might resent her sometimes, but her muffins were really good. 

He had a book, but he didn’t bother pretending he was going to read. Coffee eased over his nerves and the muffin filled his aching stomach. He felt nearly normal when someone sat down beside him at the counter. 

“Americano,” came the order in a deliciously deep voice. “extra espresso.”

“Wow, you will never sleep again,” Ori commented. 

“That was the plan, yes.” The man turned to inspect him. He was utterly gorgeous. Long dark hair shot through with silver, dark eyes and the kind of strong nose that Ori could never turn down. Ori thought he looked a little familiar, but couldn’t place him. “I know you. You used to hang around my nephews.” 

“Thorin,” Ori placed and wanted to die a little. It was probably horrific that he’d even begun to have thoughts about him. About his ex’s Uncle in his ex’s wife’s cafe at that. “I’m Ori.” 

“Ori,” Thorin repeated with a sharp nod. “That’s right. You still live here?” 

“No one else seems able to leave,” Ori shrugged. “I work from home, so here is as good as anywhere.” 

“Ringing endorsement,” Thorin smiled slightly and Ori decided he could save hating himself for later. It was just a very good sort of smile. “What is it you do at home?” 

“Write mostly,” he broke off a piece of his muffin. “I do fluff pieces for magazines and ghostwrite occasionally. I’ve done a few illustrations too.” 

“I’ve never understood ghostwriting. If you want to write a book, surely you should just do it yourself?” 

This was a topic that Ori had a very lengthy opinion on and quite against his will, it began to spill out of him. The speech didn’t seem to bother Thorin, who listened with the kind of single minded attention that usually made Ori squirm with discomfort. 

“Your coffee, sir,” the waitress set down a to-go cup and a paperbag much to Ori’s regret. 

“Thank you,” Thorin picked up the coffee and offered Ori his other hand, “a pleasure to see you again.” 

“You too,” Ori’s hand was lost in Thorin’s, totally enveloped. It was warm and not at all sweaty as Ori’s was. 

He ate the rest of his muffin in disgruntled silence then walked a few blocks to the library. Research for another article let the sun set on the out of sorts day and he returned home to the chaos of Legolas and Gimli cooking dinner together. 

“Not spinach!” Gimli ducked under Legolas to rummage in the fridge. There were already two pots simmering on the stove and it looked like the oven was done. 

“You need to eat something green or you’re going to die of malnutrition,” Legolas said with a calm that boded a storm. 

“Fine,” Gimli retreated with ill-grace. “But there better be a load of butter on it.” 

“Something’s burning,” Ori said and grabbed up a banana before dashing upstairs. 

They would probably wind up with a decent meal, but it really wasn’t worth the drama. Anyway, Ori still had the rest of his Oreos. 

“You’ll get scurvy,” Legolas came upstairs later with a plate full of spinach and chicken. “And then your crazy brother will murder me.” 

“Thanks,” he took it, but Legolas was already gone and shouting at Gimli about the Netflix queue. 

The spinach had about a pound of butter on it and tasted like heaven. He slept like the dead and woke with an idea for his novel. It poured out of him deliciously and he lost two days to it.

“You got mail,” Gimli told him when he emerged. “Didn’t look like a check or a bill, so I left it.” 

“Thanks,” he picked it off the mantle. It was handwritten, in clear slanting handwriting. “Weird. Did I miss anything?” 

“Nah, just the usual. Legolas has to work late tonight. Want to do the diner?” 

“Sure thing,” Ori set the letter back down. It would keep. 

They ate too much red meat in Legolas’ absence and ordered dessert on top of it. 

“Do you ever wonder if we should grow up or something?” Ori asked as they demolished half a pie. 

“I pay rent and argue about retirement plans with my life partner,” Gimli burped. “I’m a grown up.” 

“Right,” Ori skewed a violently red cherry on the tines of his fork. “Just me then.” 

They watched five episodes of Babylon-5 when they got back to the house. Gimli fell asleep during the sixth one. Ori draped a blanket over him, ignoring the pang of tenderness he felt. They had been friends for so long, Ori felt that Gimli was nearly a part of him. He was a good man, really. Solid and dependable and generous with himself. 

Ori remember the letter, grabbed it up and headed to the attic. He slit it open with a letter opener that Dori had given him years ago. The letter was also handwritten and he marveled over that for far too long before reading it. 

_Dear Ori,_

_When we spoke yesterday, you remarked that you were a writer. I hope you won’t mind, but I found some of your work. You’re quite good. I’m informed that my own writing ‘sucks’ according to my nephews. I’ve been asked to deliver a speech at a coming meeting and I was wondering if I could commission you to do something for me? If so, please stop by my offices sometime this week._

_Regards,  
Thorin Oakenshield. _

“What?” Ori asked the curved writing. Who did that? Who wrote a letter for a commission in this day in age? Who didn’t put down a phone number? 

He made himself wait until the next day to call Kili. They were still friends. Actual friends unlike Fili and Ori’s stiff acquaintanceship. 

“Hey, man,” Kili picked up on the second ring. 

“Hey, how’s things?” 

“Pretty good,” someone shouted in the background and Kili laughed, “we’re looking for Tauriel’s old bow. Her new one has a crack in it and there’s a competition this weekend. You should come.” 

“I might,” he marked it in his calendar. “Can I ask you something weird?” 

“Shoot.” 

“Why would your uncle write me a letter?” 

“He actually wrote you? I thought he’d be too proud. That’s great! He could really use some help,” Kili sighed. “Fili and I keep trying to talk him into delegating a little.” 

“Delegating what?” 

“You haven’t heard?” Kili asked with evident surprise. “He’s back on the warpath about the mines.” 

“They’ve been closed for years.” 

“Right, but he’s got some capital now. Not a ton, but enough to get things going, you know? There’s been a lot of push back from the local government. Bard isn’t thrilled either. Which has made family dinners awesome, let me tell you.” 

“I can only imagine,” Ori shuddered. 

“No, you shouldn't even try,” Kili said fervently. “Anyway, Thorin is going to the next town hall meeting. Make the big passionate speech, you know? Only Fili read it and then sent it to me and even Tauriel, but none of us can fix it. It’s godawful. So I told him to hire you.” 

“Oh,” Ori sagged. “I thought...never mind. Can he even afford me?” 

“Sure. He’s not rolling in it, but we’re not broke these days. We passed the hat around.” 

Now Ori did remember Dori calling him and rattling on about cashing in an old bond. Ori had agreed to get him off the phone. 

“That’s what that was about? Huh.” 

“Head in the clouds,” Kili teased gently. Another shout and a clatter cut through the line. “Shit. Gotta go.” 

“Wait-” Ori protested, but the line was dead. “Okay then.” 

The address on the envelope stared at him. Ori ignored it for about ten minutes. He couldn’t concentrate on an article about dachshunds with it glaring at him. 

“Fine,” he told it. “But only because the curiosity is killing me.” 

A shower and change of clothes later, he shoved the envelope into his pocket. It wasn’t close enough to walk, but that was what the Vespa was for. The gleaming pale green scooter had been his primary mode of transportation for long enough to go from local joke to lovable quirk. Gimli had bought him a matching helmet for a long gone birthday and Ori always dutifully strapped it on. 

The offices weren’t in the good part of town, but the good part of town was only a few square blocks. No one he knew lived in the good part of town though both Legolas and Tauriel had once upon a time. When the mines had been open, it had been a different story. Ori was born the year he closed, so he only has that from his brothers’ stories. 

The building he arrived at perched at the top of a hill with severe seventies blockade look. A creaky elevator took him to the third floor and an office with a piece of printer paper stuck to the door. ‘Erebor Renewal Project’ and below that ‘Thorin Oakenshield, President’. 

He knocked, wondering if he should have dressed up a bit more. Buisness meetings didn’t often come up for him after all. Khakis, a beige knit sweater with ragged cuffs probably wasn’t going to cut it. 

“Come in!” An elderly voice called. 

“Hi,” he opened the door a fraction to take in a cramped wait room with two chairs and a little desk. An old man sat behind it, a ledger open before him. “I’m Ori? Thorin asked me to come by.” 

“Of course! I’m Balin, you probably don’t remember me, but I used to work-” 

“At the library. You gave me my first Jane Austen novel,” Ori shook his hand happily. “You were the best librarian. I was sad when you retired.” 

“You were just a wee thing then, I’m surprised you remember,” Balin said with a pleased smile. “Let me make sure Thorin’s free. Make yourself comfortable.” 

The seats were hard as rocks, but Ori didn’t have to wait long. Balin emerged from the sole other room and gestured him inside, 

“Don’t worry if he’s snappish. It’s been a bit of day.” 

That slowed Ori’s steps, but there wasn’t far to go. The room wasn’t much bigger than the waiting area. It was dominated by a large map pinned to a wall with a thousand push pins stuck into it holding dozens of sheets of paper. Beside that was a window with a desk beneath it. Thorin was looking out the window, hands folded at the small of his back. He looked far more imposing here then he had at the cafe. 

“I got your letter,” Ori offered tentatively. 

“I assumed,” Thorin turned slowly and he really was a good looking man. Ori straightened up as best he could. “Did you call my nephew?” 

“Yes, um. Kili. He told me what you wanted.” 

“I should never have let them get married. They’re both insufferable know-it-alls now,” Thorin rubbed at his temple. “Full of advice.” 

“I think they probably would have gotten married no matter what,” Ori tried to imagine anyone trying to keep Kili and Tauriel apart. Fili...that was different, he had an idea about duty and loyalty that often came at the cost of his own happiness. Whereas Kili would probably have burned the world down to get to Tauriel. 

“Probably,” Thorin gave a rueful smile. “Anyway, that’s not why you’re here.” 

“The speech.” 

“The speech,” Thorin agreed. “What do you know about mineral rights?” 

“Absolutely nothing, but that’s never stopped me before. I don’t really need to know about it,” Ori licked his lips, “basically it’s a matter of you explaining it to me and then finding a way to make it easy for other people to understand. Or even better, making it about something else.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Speeches are about passion,” Ori took another step forward, getting a better look at the mess on the desk. “People don’t really need to understand details, they need to be moved. You need to make them care the way you care.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible. Erebor is my life’s work.” 

“Good! We can use that,” Ori hesitated. “If you want to do this. I don’t come cheap.” 

“I would never presume that you did,” Thorin said with far too much eye contact. 

That was probably the moment that Ori should have gathered together his senses, come up with an excuse and hit the ground running. 

“How long a speech?” 

“Ten minutes.” 

“I can do a flat fee of $700 for that.” 

“Agreed.” 

They shook on it and Ori only let go with the greatest reluctance. 

“We’ll need to sit down and talk,” he explained. “Enough for me to get a grasp of what you want to say and how you would say it.” 

“I thought the point was that it wouldn’t be how I said it.” 

“Not at all! Remember the whole ghost writing thing?” 

“You said that it was a matter of capturing the author’s voice.” 

“Yes, exactly,” Ori couldn’t help his smile. Thorin had actually been listening. “A long chat usually does it for something this length.” 

“I can’t spare the time today...unless, would you mind meeting me for dinner?” Thorin looked at something on his desk. “I’ve been informed that I still need to eat, but I hardly have time for it. This way I can multitask.” 

“That’s fine,” Ori scrambled. “Where?” 

“I’ll meet you at Leo’s around seven, if that works for you?” 

“Leo’s. Seven. Got it.” 

“See you then,” Thorin’s attention left him and Ori backed out of the room in confusion. 

“I’m meeting him for dinner,” he squeaked to Balin. 

“Are you?” Balin made a notation. “Leo’s. At seven.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“He’s a creature of habit, our Thorin,” Balin winked. “You’ll want to get there before seven. Punctual to a fault.” 

“I’ll do that.” 

Ori was usually early everywhere, pathologically afraid of missing something. That still gave him three hours. He went home and stood lost in the living room until Legolas nearly barreled him down. 

“Where’s Gimli?” He asked first because that was always Legolas’ first question upon coming home. 

“Still at work, I think.” 

“Must be the Brinkley server. Pizza or Chinese? No time to cook today.” 

“I’m going out.” 

“Like hell,” Legolas finally seemed to notice him, setting down his briefcase. “Where?” 

“Client?” 

“Are you asking or telling me?” 

“Definitely a client,” Ori corrected himself. 

“Just remember that they’re probably as afraid of you as you are of them,” Legolas said absently. 

“That’s mice,” Ori pointed out. 

“Not people? That explains a lot.” 

“It’s amazing you have a job.” 

“I’m good at what I do,” Legolas threw his suit jacket at the coat rack where it hung perfectly. 

"You file papers." 

"And I am the best at it," Legolas waggled his fingers at him. "Nature documentary?" 

"No, thanks," Ori hared up the stairs. Leoglas always enjoyed the animal on animal violence a little too much for his taste. 

Thorin had already seen him, so sprucing up too much would be obvious. Ori changed his sweater into a v-neck cashmere one that Legolas had bought him. The color was good and it it showed off his collarbone a little. It was a mild improvement. 

That left two and a half hours. He picked at his dachshund piece, alternating it with firm reminders to himself that this was just business meeting. Could only be a business meeting. He was not going to be the sad fuck that tried to make moves on his ex’s uncle. That would be gross and wrong. Not matter how deep his voice was or how long he held eye contact. 

He got to the restaurant a half hour early. Thorin was already standing by the front door, smoking what looked like a pipe. It smelled wonderful. Ori had given up cigarettes two years ago, but the smell of burning tobacco still twisted him up. 

“I said seven,” Thorin didn’t sound put out or upset. 

“I walked, so I left some time,” Ori shrugged. “You’re here early too.” 

“I like to take my time when I can,” Thorin tapped out what was indeed a pipe. He was a walking anachronism. “Let’s eat.” 

Leo’s wasn’t much of a restaurant, but it was a step up from the diner where Ori had spent too many hours as a teenager watching Fili serve lunch and drinking soda after soda to keep his seat. The hostess gave them a booth and some space. 

“You have a scooter, apparently,” Thorin didn’t look at the menu. Just gave all that intense attention to Ori. 

"So I've been told,” he glanced at the entrees though he knew them well. 

“I used to have a motorcycle. Dis made me give it up when the boys were born,” which was longer than Ori had been alive, he reminded himself, “I’ve been thinking about getting another one.” 

“I couldn’t,” he reached for his glass of water for something to do with his hands, “I’ve got no sense of balance.” 

“If you drive a scooter, you could manage.” 

“My brother would have a heart attack. Anyway, the Vespa gets me where I need to go. I borrow Legolas’ car if I need to go out of town.” 

“Tauriel’s friend?” 

“Yeah, I live with him and Gimli.” 

“I feel as though I should have known that,” Thorin sighed. “I can’t keep track anymore.” 

“Why? Gimli is hardly family.” 

“Sure, he is. I’m related to half the town. You and I are probably distant cousins.” 

“No!” Ori said too quickly, “I mean, I checked once. On my family tree. My grandparents on my mom’s side moved here. My Dad came here as a teenager. No relation.” 

“Ah,” Thorin seemed amused again, so Ori decided he didn’t have to be embarrassed by the outburst. “He came to work in the mine?” 

“Exactly.” 

The waitress came by, took their order: burger and fries for Ori and a steak for Thorin. 

“Tell me about Erebor,” Ori said quickly as soon as she left. He had to keep this on topic for his sanity. 

“Erebor is my home,” Thorin began. 

And Ori was lost. Thorin might not be given to speeches and the parts about mineral rights were really very dull, but it was clear that it was very much his passion. When Thorin described the passageways where he’d practically been raised, Ori started taking notes between bites of his hamburger. When Thorin talked about the loss, the first lawsuits from the corporate firm, it seemed very fresh. Then the incident that the police called accident, but Thorin was convinced was sabotage that killed several miners and put the mine out of business for good. The heat of Thorin’s anger could have warmed their cooling plates a thousand times over. 

“Is that enough?” Thorin asked when he’d finished. 

“More then,” Ori swallowed hard. “I can do a lot with that.” 

“I need you do everything with it. I don’t know if I’ll have another chance.” 

“No pressure,” Ori laughed nervously. 

“Only some,” Thorin relented. “But you’ve hardly said anything.” 

“You heard enough about me at the cafe yesterday.” 

“That was about your opinion on ghostwriting, not you.” 

“Not much to know about me,” Ori pulled apart a limp fry. “You've got most of it. Share an old house, write a bit, has a Vespa, wears too many sweaters...that’s the sum of it.” 

“Kili says otherwise,” Thorin commented lightly. “He speaks very highly of you.” 

“That’s kind of him. But really, that’s it. Grew up here, stayed here. Not very interesting.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Thorin stared at him. “You should meet me again tomorrow. We’ll talk about the speech. Will you have a draft by then?” 

“I can do that,” he could. He’d be up all night, but he could. 

“Good. Seven. Here.” 

Thorin departed without a goodbye though he must’ve paid the check when Ori wasn’t paying attention because the waitress just waved Ori away when he reached for his wallet. 

Ori went straight home, ignored Gimli’s greeting and went up to his room. He spread out his notes and with Thorin’s voice still velvet soft in his ear, began to write. The words welled up out him and let them come exactly as he heard them first. Dawn crested while he took a second go at it, starting the process of cutting it down and editing it. He sunk into bed when he heard Legolas and Gimli getting ready for work and set his alarm for five hours. 

At noon, he woke and set himself on the third revision followed by a devouring of Chinese leftovers. He ate Gimli’s General Tsao’s because Legolas was vicious if anyone touched his beef with broccoli. Then he did a fourth draft. Gimli would just eat his Thai leftovers next time in revenge. 

A long shower peeled off the layer of funk and oil clinging to him. He redid his braids with quick thoroughness and if he added a touch of cologne then that was his own business. It was a pleasant sandalwood kind of scent, nothing ridiculous or overpowering. He hesitated over his clothes, but bullied himself out of doing anything stupid. Thorin had already seen him, he knew what Ori looked like and would therefore know if he was dressing up. He pulled on fresh khakis, a t-shirt and another sweater, argyle this time. 

He got to Leo’s a half hour early. Thorin was smoking a pipe outside. They shared a smile that kindled in Ori’s stomach. They went in. Thorin ordered a steak, Ori got a burger. 

“I’m told I have too many routines,” Thorin shrugged. “But my life has had enough upheaval to appreciate a few traditions.” 

“I never thought about it like that,” Ori said. “I just like what I like and if it’s not bothering anyone then it works.” 

“A practical philosophy.” 

“I’ve got that draft if you want to see it.” 

Thorin took it so quickly that it nearly gave Ori a papercut. He read it through once while they waited for food and then began all over again when he reached the end. His steak steamed beneath the pages. 

“This...” Thorin set it down, pressing a hand on it as though it might try to escape. 

“Just a draft. I can fix it-” 

“Don’t change a word,” Thorin drew it closer. “It’s perfect.” 

“Oh,” Ori let out a breath he’d been holding for far too long. “Are you sure? Most people at least want a revision.” 

“I wouldn't change it for the better. You understood exactly what was required. Now I just have to do it justice in delivery.” 

“You could practice on me,” Ori offered and then winced at his own eagerness. 

“Could I?” Thorin seemed intrigued rather than put off. “An audience might help.” 

“Sure, no problem.” 

“Tomorrow at my office then.” Thorin folded up the pages and put them into his pocket. 

“I’ll email you a copy to. Back up.” 

“I don’t have an email address,” Thorin waved the thought away. 

“You...how?” Ori stared at him. 

“I just don’t. Computers and I don’t agree with each other. If I need something electronic, one of the boys manages it just fine. It’s one of the reasons I stopped working as a mechanic. All the new cars are mostly computerized.” 

“Is that why you wrote me like that?” 

“Yes. The postal system is a much ignored resource,” Thorin sighed. “I know it must make me sound like an idiot, but I really have no interest in learning the damn things.” 

“I just don’t know anyone who doesn’t use a computer. My gran uses one,” his eyes widened, “but I don’t think you're stupid! Just unusual.” 

“That’s a kinder word than I usually hear,” Thorin chuckled. “It was for the best in the end. The boys run the business better than I ever did and being an investor instead gives me time to pursue Erebor. That’s where my mind has always been anyway.”

“Do you miss working on engines?” 

“I go down occasionally to help. That generally reminds me of what I don’t miss,” Thorin finally began to eat. “You mentioned a brother. What does he do?” 

“Dori is a school nurse. I’ve got two actually, but Nori doesn’t have what you’d call a profession. He’s serving five to ten at the moment,” Ori sighed. “We drive out to visit once a month or so.” 

“What’s he in for?” 

“Breaking and entering. We’ve all given up on being furious with him. It’s like he can’t help it or something,” Ori shook his head. “Guess every family has one. Dori says its because him and me are so quiet. Nori had to make up for it.” 

“I thought that would be Kili for a touch and go year.” 

“Sophomore year,” Ori remembered it all too vividly. 

“You took the fall for one of his incidents.” 

“The fountain, oh God. No, that was both of us. He ‘liberated’ some hooch from the house and neither of us had ever gotten drunk before. But he’d had three suspensions already, so I let him run off. I was grounded for months after that.” 

“You must’ve been furious with him.” 

“Nah, Kili has a way of making it come out alright in the wash,” Ori broke a fry in half. “He bought me concert tickets and covered for me when Dori said I couldn’t go. Anyway, no one can stay mad at Kili.” 

“But you’ve stayed mad at Fili,” Thorin took a sip of water nonchalantly. 

“Oh, shit, you know?” Ori groaned and wished the floor would open him up. “How do you know?” 

“I told you I remembered you. Only it took me awhile,” Thorin tapped his forehead, “He was miserable after he broke it off from what I recall.” 

“Not miserable enough,” he mumbled, embarrassed beyond reckoning. “I did forgive him. It’s just...different. It was more than a decade ago, anyway. A lot of water under that bridge.”

“I thought he did the right thing at the time.” 

“Why?” Ori demanded, sheer outrage making him bold. 

“I made him grow up too fast. We all did. He might only have been a few years older than you, but it might as well have been a thousand,” Thorin had the decency to look upset about it. “I thought after you that he wouldn’t even try again. He never brought anyone home, never seemed to go out.” 

“I didn’t break his heart, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“No, we did a thorough enough job of that, Dis and I.” Thorin sighed. “We weren’t paying enough attention.” 

“He’s happy enough now,” Ori said and he was proud of himself for washing away all the bitterness from that. “Sigrid suits him.” 

“She does. Did you know she cornered me and gave me the dressing down of my life? Her with Tauriel at her back. On and on about how I had lost sight of the important things in life. Food and cheer over gold and silver. They’re a formidable team.” 

“I helped organize their weddings, trust me, I know.” 

“Kili’s I understand, but Fili’s?” 

“Don’t ask.” 

“I can guess: Kili.” 

“Kili,” Ori confirmed. 

“That boy wouldn’t know a delicate social cue if it bit him.” 

That proved a fertile tangent and led them far away from Ori’s ancient scars. From Kili stories they veered off into national politics. Thorin wasn’t nearly as conservative as Ori would have pegged him, more a moderate and willing to listen as Ori explained his own near-socialist views. They debated, but it stayed away from true argument and only ended when the waitress started turning chairs onto the tables pointedly. 

“Fuck,” Ori looked at his watch. “I’ve kept you very late.” 

“It’s fine,” Thorin stood with a wince. “My knee might not forgive me though. So you’ll come by the office tomorrow?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Ori walked home in a daze. The lights were all off, the house quiet. He made himself a cup of tea and drank it slowly over the sink. A cat stalked through the grass, tail swishing eagerly. The world ticked onward. He washed his mug and went to bed. 

The next day in Thorin’s office was a new kind of torture. They were in close proximity and on each pass, Thorin delivered the speech with more and more intensity until Ori wasn’t sure if he was delivering the words or trying to fuck them. Not that he said that. Wasn’t sure he had to with how much his face heated up on the last go around. 

“Maybe scale it back a little,” he offered in a near squeak. 

“Passion is critical, you said,” Thorin looked steadily at him as if he had no idea of the effect he was having. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “but reasonable passion.” 

“Hm,” Thorin made a note. “You’ll be there? It’d be good to have another friendly face in the audience.” 

“Of course,” Ori took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Come to dinner. It’s nearly seven,” Thorin set the speech aside.

Ori didn’t realize that he could’ve said no until they were already seated. Not that he wanted to, but it was a testament to how far he’d gone into this stupid crush. Well, after tomorrow they’d have no reason to talk. Which would be good. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

“What will you do?” He asked. The waitress didn’t bother taking their order which was nice. “Once you win?” 

“The confidence is appreciated,” Thorin smiled wryly. “I’ll reopen the mines, of course. That will take a long time. There’s a lot of damage and new security measures to be implemented. Years, maybe. Then I’ll be busy running the place.” 

“You’ll take a vacation in there somewhere, I hope. To celebrate if nothing else.” 

“Going home would be my celebration.” 

“Sure, but you need a break from home once and a while. I drive out to this lake sometimes. It’s not far, but it gives me some perspective on things. Rent a little cabin, go out on a boat and look at the sky.” 

“That sounds peaceful,” Thorin smiled wryly. “I haven’t known that kind of peace in far too long.” 

Ori bit back an offer. He could imagine Thorin fishing off the pier. Going for a swim. And oh God, that was not where his thoughts should go right now. 

“A weekend away would do you some good,” he said instead. 

“You’re probably right.” 

They didn’t close the place down again, but it was a near thing. They walked out into the cool night together. Thorin cam with him part way down the block, 

“You’ll be there tomorrow?” He asked again, betraying nerves Ori wouldn’t have suspected. 

“I will,” he promised. 

“Good. That’s good.” And walked off without saying goodbye. Ori was beginning to suspect the word simply wasn’t in the man’s vocabulary. 

There were lights on tonight back home. Legolas and Gimli were out on the porch swing, their voices barely carrying in the still night. 

“Look who’s still alive then,” Gimli waved him in. Ori pushed himself up onto the handrail, legs dangling down, facing the pair of them. “Where have you been?” 

“Working,” glad that it wasn’t a lie. “Important client.” 

“I heard,” Gimli grinned. “Thorin himself. Good to have friends in high places.” 

“Good to be good at what you do,” Legolas corrected. “Ori earned it.” 

“It can be both,” Gimli winked at Ori. “So I guess we’ll all be going tomorrow night.” 

“What do you two care?” 

“My Dad worked those mines,” Gimil looked stung.

“I actually don’t give two shits, but I’ll hear holy hell if I don’t go,” Legolas sighed. “Such is my lot in life.” 

“Sorry,” Ori dipped his eyes down. “I forgot, actually.” 

“It’s alright,” Gimli smacked him on the knee. “We should all get some sleep.” 

Easier said than done. Ori tossed and turned and dreamed about formless horrors. He spent the day in a low level funk, barely getting himself together in time to take his position in the backseat of Legolas’ car. The townhall parking lot was full, forcing them to park a half mile away and they had to run to make it in time. 

Breathless, Ori took up a position by the back door just as Thorin got to the podium. He looked regel in a dark suit and somber tie. Scanning the crowd, Thorin’s eyes landed on Ori momentarily. Ori flicked him a thumb’s up and was rewarded with a flicker of a smile. 

The speech was devastatingly good. Not Ori’s words which he couldn’t help, but rewrite again in his head and wince at a few clunky phrases, but Thorin’s delivery. Just the right amount of passion. Everyone heard his love of Erebor, his pain at its closure, his concern for the town that had once depended on it. When he finished, the crowd was hushed. Ori held his breath until the applause started. Raucous, loud and moving. People jumped to their feet, whistling and stomping. 

Bard’s retort was barely heard. The town council went into an executive session, but it was so short, no one had time to get more than a low level buzz going before they returned. 

“It is the feeling of this council,” announced Mr. Masters in his weasley way, “that Erebor’s doors have been too long closed. If Mr. Oakenshield wishes to reopen them, then he claims all liability and expense, but he has our heartfelt support.” 

Tears sprang to Ori’s eyes, surprising him. Maybe through his talks with Thorin, he had come to love the stupid mines a little himself. 

“You’re a genius!” Kili emerged from the crowd to pick Ori clear off his feet and smack a loud kiss on his cheek. 

“Enough of that,” Tauriel tore Kili away and then gave Ori her own kiss. “Well done. Beautiful speech.” 

“I only wrote it. It took Thorin to deliver it,” Ori protested. 

“But he couldn’t have without you,” Kili beamed. “We’re all going to go get smashed, coming?” 

Ori really wanted to see Thorin, but there was a throng around him. Anyway, he had to be done with that now. His part was over. 

“Of course.” 

The bar was very merry indeed. Kili bought the first two rounds and there seemed a never ending line of people willing to buy the next ones. Ori drank a few beers and let the happy chatter wash over him. He was passed around in exuberant hugs and eventually found himself just outside the front door, taking in a much needed breath. 

“It was a great speech,” an all too familiar voice said. 

“Thanks,” he looked up and sure enough, there was Fili. He was smoking a cigarette, braids a mess and eyes smudged with fatigue. “You okay?” 

“Been a crazy week,” Fili offered him the cigarette. They used to share them like that, even before they dated. 

“Quit.” 

“Right, forgot. I'm down to one a day, just can't quit this last one,” Fili fiddled with his lighter. “I was thinking about us the other day. Uncle keeps talking about you. Whenever I saw him, he was on about you actually.” 

“Really?” Ori gaped. 

“Is it so hard to believe?” Fili smiled at him, wry and honest. “You wrote him a hell of a speech and kept him from losing his nerve during the hardest week of his life.” 

“He didn’t seem that nervous.” 

“He’s good at hiding it,” the tip of the cigarette flared orange and bright in the dark. “I kissed you that first time because you helped me through a panic attack. Do you remember?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’ve got a knack for putting people at ease. I liked that,” a curl of smoke escaped Fili’s lips. “I should say that I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

“You said so at the time.” 

“Figured it could do with repeating. Some people seem to think that I owed you and they’re probably right.”

Something impossible occurred to Ori, 

“Did...did Thorin tell you that?” 

“Possibly,” Fili grimaced at him. “Told you he talked about you.” 

“That’s horribly embarrassing.” 

“I think it’s nice. He could use someone to protect and to keep him calm,” the butt got flicked into the street where it showered up streets. “But if you hurt him, I will kill you.” 

“I have no idea what you’re on about.” 

“Okay,” Fili pushed the door back open, the roar of the crowd flooding the street. “But keep it in mind anyway.” 

Ori went back in long enough to tell Gimli that he was walking home. 

“It’s two miles!” 

“I need to clear my head,” he hugged Gimli tight. “See you later.” 

“What was that for?” Gimli stared at him. 

“For being you. Don't have another shot. It's your turn to be the near sober one, I think.” 

He slipped out after that, feet light on the sidewalk. The moon was heavy and bright, lighting his way. The parking lot outside the townhall was still half full from party revelers. There was a bright point of light near the door. Following instinct, Ori approached it. 

Thorin’s pipe resolved itself when Ori got close. The man himself was sitting on the hood of a car. He didn’t seem surprised to see Ori and just moved over enough that Ori could sit beside him. 

“I think I’d like to go away to celebrate,” Thorin blew a circle of smoke and it was a little like Fili’s wispy exhalations and yet, totally different. It sent a shiver down Ori’s spine. “To go see your lake.” 

“We could go this weekend,” the darkness made him bold or maybe it had been talking with Fili or maybe it was just feeling a little more grown up somehow. “I don’t need to give notice to a job and no one will expect you to jump right in.” 

“I have a fishing rod somewhere.” 

“I usually just rent stuff. It’s not as good, but it gets the job done.” 

“When do you usually leave?” 

“Friday nights. Drive takes a few hours and I stop for dinner at this roadside place. Hole in the wall. Terrible coffee, but good burgers. They could probably do a steak. Get there late, crash out. Then I have the whole weekend.” 

“I’ll disturb you peace,” Thorin tapped out his pipe, slid it into his pocket. 

“I don’t think you could if you tried,” Ori admitted. “You seem good for it, actually.” 

Thorin turned to face him, 

“I’m quite a lot older than you. Not just in years.” 

“But I’m not a teenager,” Ori licked his lips. “I’m old enough to make my own choices by a lot. Vote, drink, drive, the whole shebang.” 

“I’m a miserable old workaholic with a tendency to narrow sightedness.” 

“I happen to like miserable old workaholics.” 

Thorin barked out a laugh and Ori grinned at him. 

“I’ll probably make you very unhappy,” Thorin said through a smile. 

“Nope,” Ori leaned in. “Too late to talk me out of it now. I’ll just have to find out the hard way.” 

Thorin kissed him, deep and without reservation. Ori gripped his lapels and drew him closer. 

“Let’s leave now,” Thorin drew away. “One weekend may be all I have time for.” 

Ori texted Gimli hours later, halfway to the lake with their bags rattling in Thorin’s trunk, 

_Back in a few days. Tell Legolas he was right again and give him a kiss when he gets smug about it._

“Must you?” Thorin wrinkled his nose. 

“I won’t let the bad technology touch you,” Ori tucked it into his pocket. 

He wouldn’t need it where they were going anyway.


End file.
